


Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

by Moorishflower



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Bulges and Nooks, Hermaphroditic Trolls, Knotting, M/M, Size Kink, Troll Biology, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:50:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere in the non-existent Nerdstuck Alpha universe, Bro Strider and Eridan Ampora hit it off for reasons unknown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

**Author's Note:**

> This is not an actual canon/fanon Nerdstuck fic, so I'm not adding it to the series, but it is set in a universe that is very similar right up until the point where Eridan and Bro (read: me) decided that fucking was a great idea.
> 
> The logic behind this is that I read Asuka Kureru's tumblr and I decided to try and work out how alien biology + knotting would work, and I came up with this.

The first thought you have upon seeing Dave’s little friend for the first time is ‘hipster twink.’ Then he opens his mouth, and you hear that accent and his weird affectations and his too-cool-for-school attitude, and you amend it to ‘hipster twink power bottom.’

His name is Eridan Ampora and you have no idea how Dave knows him. You barely have an idea about how Dave knows any of his friends; it’s this complicated dreamcatcher labyrinth of vaguely-familiar names and he knows her who knows her through him and thus I know all of them, and you sort of gave up on it when Dave tried to explain how his boyfriend (sort of? maybe?) knows, via someone via someone else, the future head of troll government. You spaced out and Dave got pissed, so you threw a smuppet at him, and next thing you knew you were wrestling. Good times, good times.

Except now he’s actually brought a friend over, so you guess that means you should make some vague attempt at being sociable and not a weird, reclusive asshole. Which sucks, because you aren’t a friends guy, like, you enjoy having friends, but you suck at keeping them. You say and do shit that’s off-putting on about a hundred different levels and there aren’t a lot of people who can or want to handle it. It’s a miracle you haven’t alienated your little bro yet.

“Nice to meet you,” Eridan says, mildly insincere and obviously more interested in being anywhere other than where he is right now. You stick your hand out to shake and he grudgingly takes it; his grip is like a dead fish that’s been grafted to a vice in some horrible science experiment. He gives you two strong pumps and then retreats, fingers twitching. He’s got fins. Those ear-fin deals like you remember, and it’s been a long time so it doesn’t hurt nearly as much anymore, but wow, that brings you back.

“He’s staying for a couple days,” Dave says. “He had a fight with his girlfriend.”

“She ain’t my girlfriend.” Eridan sounds unaccountably sad about this. You update your mental label to ‘hipster bi power bottom,’ but you aren’t really sure if it’ll stick, on account of trolls and gender and weird alien junk. Yeah, it’s been years, but you still remember that shit, go you.

Dave goes to his room, leaving you alone with Scarf McQueen. It’s Texas and it’s Spring, which means said scarf is wholly unnecessary. And yet it stays.

Eridan bares his teeth at you. Oh no. Oh, that is precious. It’s like a teacup chihuahua snarling at a bear. “I ain’t gonna be here long, gramps, so just stay outta my way.”

Gramps. You are forty-two. Forty-two. You are going to kick this twinky vintage motherfucker’s ass from here all the way back to the smoldering remains of Alternia, holy shit. But this requires patience. Cunning. You hold off, choosing to stare unnervingly at Eridan instead. Eventually he gets weirded out and he retreats to the bathroom; the water runs for a long time, but you’re filthy rich and partial to seadwellers anyways, so it’s not a hardship.

Come dinnertime, you’ve set up your trap. Eridan and Dave venture into the kitchen for sustenance, only to be surprised by a cascading flood of plush rump from the ceiling trapdoor. You watch from the safety of the living room as a vibrating proboscis becomes lodged in Eridan’s scarf, and he has to spend a good three minutes wrestling his way out of buzzing puppet dong. Dave calmly removes himself from the pile and gets himself some AJ. You add a mental gold star to his Unruffled Ironic Coolkid chart and emerge from the shadows like Batman. Eridan squeaks. And then snarls. Adorable.

“Okay, kids, playtime’s over. Who wants sushi?”

“Ugh, Bro, no--”

But Eridan lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree. And you remember and you remember, and you think maybe he’s a pretentious arthouse hipster douchebag with squiggly horns and an awful scarf, but shit, you should give the guy a chance. It’s not like the ‘being an asshole’ hashtag couldn’t also apply to you.

So you take them out to the sushi bar downtown, and Dave gets tempura and chews it sullenly because he’s a wuss who won’t eat raw fish. Meanwhile, you and Eridan gorge yourselves on unagi and toro and iku-tama. Eridan is technically legal by troll standards, so he orders a cup of sake and tries to suggest that he can outdrink you. You remind him that you’ve been drinking since before he was even a twinkle in the Mother Grub’s eye. He sips his drink in sullen silence, but perks up when you order awabi and offer to share.

Dave tells you to “Get a room already, Jesus Christ,” and you have to explain to Eridan that what he’s really saying is ‘get a concupiscent couch.’ Eridan blushes a bright, bright purple, but you notice that he doesn’t protest.

Hmm.

You bring the kids back to the apartment and set Eridan up in the bathroom; he’s brought his own sopor packs, good for him, best boyscout award. You sacrifice a couple pillows so he isn’t lying on porcelain all day and end up falling asleep at around two in the morning, wondering if you’ve finally reached the last rung on your echeladder of creepy pervitude. Like, smuppets, okay, robots, okay, a variety of kinks, okay. But now your bro’s friend? Who’s half your age?

You text Roxy in the morning, who cheerfully informs you that morals r 4 losrts losrrs* losers* wink wonk ;). Fuck it, you’re going balls-deep for this one. Go big or go home, et cetera, et cetera.

You fuck around for most of the day, do a bit of work on your website, check your bank account (ka-ching), strife with Dave on the roof. He makes a dude proud, he does. Then it’s evening again, and when you hear Eridan get up you wait until he’s repackaged all the sopor and then barge into the bathroom unannounced.

He’s in the process of showering, green trails along his sides sluicing down the drain, gills fluttering purple-grey as the water hits them. He’s not built like a twenty year-old kid, he’s built like a thirty year-old swimmer, with already-defined muscles and pretty much all the height he’s gonna get. He’s got a few inches on you, height-wise, but he still shrieks and flails around when the door bangs open.

Dave shouts “Don’t fuck in the shower oh my God” and Eridan shouts “Holy shit what the fuck what” and you’re just...grinning and reaching for your toothbrush. Strider style. Boo-yah.

You also take off your shirt and shave, floss, all that jazz, because hey, why not. Eridan huddles behind the shower curtain, hunkered down in the tub like a cat that someone’s dumped a bucket of water on, pupils huge and earfins flattened almost straight down against his neck.

You finish your nightly ablutions, cheerfully wink at him, and then abscond. The shower starts up again, and doesn’t stop for a long time. You order pizza, get one with sardines for Eridan, and when he reappears he seems torn between wanting to be as far away from you as possible and wanting to climb into your lap and ride you like a pony. You’ve been around the block a few times, you can tell these things.

Day three, Dave informs you that he ‘doesn’t care’ if you and Eridan want to bone like hopbeasts, but if it’s going to continue he’s going to disappear for a while. You tell him in no uncertain terms that you plan to let it continue for as long as Eridan is still willing, and Dave flips you the bird and then packs an overnight bag so he can go and hang out with Eridan’s not-girlfriend, who is, apparently, also his friend, via that same complicated web of friends and friends-of-friends that brought Eridan here in the first place.

As soon as Dave is gone, you arrange for Eridan to catch you getting dressed. You’ve still got those lacy orange panties, after all. You’re pretty sure you burst a blood vessel in his brain or something, judging by the way he slams the door. It’s totally worth the mild discomfort of walking around be-pantied with your junk all tucked up, because you’re way too committed to this to only go half-way.

To his credit, Eridan holds out for a really long time. As in, a week. And Dave tells you that Feferi (the not-girlfriend) stopped being angry days ago; there’s no way Eridan doesn’t know this. Which means he’s been hanging around with your creepy ass for reasons unknown.

The dam eventually breaks, though, as all things must, and Eridan confronts you over Thai food and shitty skateboarding games. In the middle of fumbling a grind, he throws down the controller and stands, fins flared out and glasses sliding down his nose. “All right, either you start explainin’ or I’m gonna start fillin’ things with holes.” You don’t doubt him, either, you figure it’s practically a prerequisite that seadwellers have major psychological issues. Not that you mind...or have room to complain, really, being the stellar example of mental health that you are.

God, his fins look like silk. You want to lick them.

“Explain what.”

“This!” He gestures expansively: at you, at the XBox, at the Thai. “All this fuckin’ flirtin’ an’ harassin’ me an’ I can’t tell whether you’re waxin’ pitch or flushed!”

Shit, he thinks this is a romance thing. And he’s adorable, but you’re you. You don’t know if you’re even capable of positive emotions any more. You switch it up a bit. “Nah, neither.”

“What.”

“Don’t quadrant me up, dude. Trust me, I’m the last person you want as your matesprit, and I’d make a shitty kismesis.” You tilt your shades down so that you can eye him, real honest and sincere-like, and he sort of...deflates, a little. Took the wind right out of his sails.

“Then you’re just mockin’ me.”

“Shit, no. You’ve got an ass like a Greek statue and I’d fuck you in a hot second. I’m just not romance material.”

It’s like he can’t compute what you’re saying, like there’s no alternative to ‘in hate’ or ‘in pity.’ You can see him trying to work through it, processing the weird ins and outs of human-style romance and eventually arriving at something roughly approximating ‘fuck-buddies.’ Which works for you, he’s a cool kid, even if he tries too hard. “What, you mean, like...bucket-buds?” You have no idea what the context for that particular turn of phrase is. You nod anyways, because it sounds about right.

Eridan slowly retakes his seat, staring at the wall. “I dunno if the drones would even take that,” he says faintly. “Didn’t think humans filled pails at all.”

“We don’t. Not the way you're thinking. But it’s not like it’d be a hardship to fuck you, dude.”

“So that’s what you’re offerin’? If the drones come, an’ I ain’t got any concupiscent quadrants filled, you would...?” He’s blushing now, holy shit, precious. But he’s still not saying ‘yes,’ and you might be amping up the Perverted Old Man vibe but you are definitely not going to coerce this dude into sex that he doesn’t want.

You nod anyways. “Yeah, sure. Why not? You’re hot. I’m hot. We should be hot together for great Alternian justice.”

“You’re makin’ fun a me again.”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me that.” You slide your shades off, drop them over the side of the couch to be lost in the detritus that litters your apartment, but that’s cool, you’ve got like ten other pairs. Eridan tracks your movements, breath hitching as you lean closer, careful not to crowd him, to cage him in. He’s reed-thin but he’s probably stronger than you, troll biology, how the fuck does it even work, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be able to throw you off if he’s not actually interested.

His eyes close, and his fins flutter, the thin membranes turning bright purple with a sudden rush of blood.

He’s interested. There’s no faking that.

You kiss him while you’ve still got the opportunity, make it count and really go for the gusto. He tastes like peanut sauce and he smells like the ocean, briny and cool, and when you put your hand against his neck he’s cool there, too. Familiar but not. He sighs and melts into your touch, fin extending, blood-flushed, he’s gorgeous, he’s so fucking pretty, and your mental label updates to ‘bi hipster twink subbing from the top.’ You can work with that.

“I need some verbal confirmation here, dude,” you say, words swallowed by his mouth as he strains for you, against you, sharp teeth pricking at your lip. He draws a bead of blood, which he immediately licks away, the iron-salt taste making him hum. “No quadrants, just totally willing, enthusiastic fucking.”

“Oh my god, just shut up and tell me where your awful human nook is already.”

Hoo boy, is he in for a surprise. But from there it’s pretty smooth sailing, at least: you lose your hat and shirt in relatively short order while Eridan struggles with his scarf and overshirt. You have to make him stop at one point so you can unzip, unbutton, and unbuckle the rest of him, until he’s naked and you’re all the way down to your shorts. Gratifyingly, his bulge is already half-unsheathed, just tentacular enough to set off your 'which hentai did I see this in?' senses. His gillfins are flared out, everything flushed purple and swollen, and he’s got these little, like, studs of flesh in concentric circles around the circumference of his bulge, all the way up to the tip. You trail your finger along one of them and Eridan shudders, bulge squirming to get closer.

“Is it true about seadwellers?” You already know. From experience, yeah, but Wikipedia is a wonderful thing to browse at one in the morning when you can’t sleep. Eridan snaps his teeth and tries to get closer.

“Is what true?”

“You’ve got inflatable cocks.”

Eridan’s not stupid; even if he has no idea what a ‘cock’ is, he’s smart enough to figure it out from the context. He grabs your wrist and drags it to the base of his bulge, where you can feel the little bumps, soft right now, textured. “Why don’t you find out?”

Shit, if that’s not an engraved invitation you don’t know what is. You snatch your hand back and make a dash for the bathroom, retrieving a pump bottle of lube (you figure a travel tube might not cut it), deliberating over a packet of condoms while Eridan makes confused, slightly angry noises in the living room. When you return (sans condoms, you don’t even think they’d fit and you don’t have any of the troll-specific ones), he’s sitting tailor style with his bulge out and his arms crossed huffily over his chest. You brandish the lube at him.

“What the fuck is that?”

“We aren’t self-lubricating. Well, dudes aren’t.” You strip your shorts off and squirt a healthy amount of lube into your palm. Eridan watches your dick spring up towards your stomach with undisguised fascination.

“You ain’t puttin’ that in me,” he says, and you laugh, unironic and actually enjoyable, because he looks so weirded out. To him, your totally normal human dick is the most alien thing he’s ever seen. You feel like you’re an ambassador to a new species. Peace negotiations plus cock.

“I wasn’t planning to. Hold your hoofbeasts, Eri, I’m getting there.” You give your cock an experimental stroke, let him see how the skin shifts, how faint wetness beads at the tip, and then you drop onto the couch on all fours with your ass in the air. Forty-two and you’re still proud of that ass, it’s your favorite feature. You run and swim when you can, strife with Dave when he’s around, and if Eridan doesn’t appreciate the effort you’re going to, here, well then fuck him.

Ha ha, that’s exactly what you’re going to do. Excellent pun there, brain, real awesome. You spread lube on your fingers and lean over, Eridan staring you down in a half-confused half-aroused stupor. It’s been a while since you’ve been with someone, even longer since you’ve been with a troll, and you can count the number of times you bulge-bottomed on one hand. But you keep everything limber, and it’s sort of hard to run a porn website and not occasionally sample your own wares, so it’s not like you’re virgin tight or anything. You get two fingers in without much finagling, and Eridan watches like he’s still waiting for you to go ha ha, joke’s on you, here’s that nook I was hiding all along.

“Humans are fuckin’ weird,” he says, and then squawks in the most adorably undignified way when you grab his bulge with your other hand. Two fingers up your ass and a handful of alien tentadick, that’s how you like to live your life, fucking dangerously. Then he starts trilling and purring and squirming all over the place, gillfins flared out, and they’ve got little light purple spots on them, holy shit. You give in to your earlier desire and lean in to lick them, trailing your tongue along the very edge of his gillslits. You wonder if it’s, like, licking the inside of someone’s nose, for him, but the way he mewls and shudders, and the way his bulge starts lashing all over the place, makes it worth it regardless of what the troll equivalent is.

You add more lube and try for a third finger, and you’re going to be sliding around by the time you’re done here but you haven’t been properly fucked for such a long time that it’ll be worth it, even if it means shitting violet for the next day or so. Eridan grabs for your neck and you let him reel you in to kiss you, nipping at your mouth and humming and purring, little rumbling satisfied noises while his bulge twists around your wrist. He’s big, you’ll give him that, and three fingers is already a bit of a burn, but you pause to breathe (and to add more lube) and add fourth while Eridan tries to crawl down your throat and set up shop there.

“Come on,” he mutters, “come on, wanna pail you so fuckin’ hard.”

“Hang in there, champ, you’re almost there.” The base of his bulge has gotten hard, which makes you think yeah, he’s almost there all right, so you quickly abandon your vague (and vaguely uncomfortable) thought of what if I just tucked my thumb in and slide your fingers out, slow and easy does it. You feel empty, afterwards, like you’re gaping open, and it’s almost frightening how desperate that makes you. You shove Eridan back ‘til he’s reclining and work his bulge from around your wrist, then kneel over his waist with your ass in easy reach. You don’t know if it’s instinct or just dumb luck, but it takes his bulge less than fifteen seconds to find you, and then it’s.

Oh.

Oh, God.

“Strider, say somethin’.” Eridan’s voice has gone whisper-thin, nearly reverent, but you can’t see him, your eyes are closed and you’re sort of swaying a little as his bulge squirms and twists and makes itself at home. Moving in, picking out curtains, saying hello to its neighbor, the prostate, the whole deal. Holy shit, that is intense, you’d forgotten how intense it was, how-- “Bro, please.”

You imagine he doesn’t say ‘please’ too often, so you yank yourself out of that weird headspace and, shuddering, drape yourself over his front. Cool thing about tentadicks: easy maneuverability, no need for thrusting. “I’m cool.” The side of his bulge rubs against your prostate, and you’re pretty sure you can feel him in your throat. If this sex doesn’t kill you it’s probably going to be in your top three. “S’all cool.”

“G-good. Don’t wanna turn this pitch on...on you.” Right, right. Considerate Eridan. Good Eridan. Eridan with the lovely bulge. You stretch out and feel him shift to accommodate you, and he’s staring at you wide-eyed and his glasses fogged, and he’s got a big dick and he’s precious so you kiss him again. Lick his lips until he opens for you, and with your hands directing him he starts an easy rocking motion that makes his bulge writhe inside you. It’s good, it’s so good, and you can feel him getting harder and bigger, if that’s even possible, except you know it is because you’ve done your research and his smug fucking grin when you asked was all the confirmation you needed.

“Holy shit, dude.” Your voice sounds strained, even to yourself, and Eridan is grinning again, but it’s this wild and wondering sort of expression, like he’s still not entirely sure you’re real. “Oh my God, you’re fuckin’ big.” The grin becomes near-ecstatic. Has anyone ever complimented him before? You think you just popped his ‘nice dick’ cherry, go you, A plus for effort and execution. He rocks his hips up, this time independent of your urging, and then he reaches down between you and actually grabs your dick. That is basically all the urging you need to go hogwild on him, and you strain and rut into his palm, the tips of his claws sometimes scratching but never breaking skin, and it’s just the right amount of an edge, just enough to get you going. His bulge rubs repeatedly against your prostate and he jerks you off with practiced, methodical strokes, and when you come it’s almost a surprise. Like, you were so focused on how intense everything was that you forgot orgasming was a thing, but it totally is, the most amazing thing ever. You’re pretty sure you see stars, and if Eridan is weirded out by the color of human jizz he doesn’t show it, he just fucks you harder, and his bulge gets stiffer and bigger until you’re pretty sure that you’re never going to be able to get him out again, and then he stops.

And shivers.

And makes the most otherworldly noise you have ever heard. Like a whale keening underwater, except higher-pitched and intermixed with garbled swearing. It’s both hilarious (because whales) and gorgeous, and you felt full before, but now you feel full and cool inside. Spearmint fresh, or something, and you would remember that seadwellers are way up there on the cold end of the spectrum, but you’re too busy focusing on the feeling of him expanding in you. All those weird little nubby bits along his bulge fill up with blood and ground him in your ass, and you aren’t ashamed to admit it, you totally come a second time. You regret that you have but one palmful of jizz to give, but that’s definitely a second orgasm right there, rippling through you, an incoming tide to the first one’s tsunami. You’re a shivering, groaning mess on Eridan’s chest, and he’s panting and making that beached whale noise, God, he’s such a gorgeous mess, and every time you so much as blink you can feel him, still in you. You’re sure there’s a biological reason for that. Keep all the slurry in until the drones can arrive to collect it. Something.

You don’t really care, because what matters is that he’s going to be in you for at least a half-hour, maybe longer, and just the thought makes your dick give a feeble attempt at a twitch. You stretch out again, another shiver running through you, and Eridan wraps his arms around your torso.

You think about saying something witty. A clever one-liner to make him laugh, because you like when he laughs, it’s dorky and he’s got that weird accent that makes it all the more adorable.

But you don’t. He looks so peaceful.

Instead, you rest your cheek against his chest, listening to him breathing, and feeling his gillfins flutter against your sides.

 


End file.
